


Sunshine

by ElizaHiggs



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Charlotte returns, F/M, Post-Career of Evil, some language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 06:02:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14731319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaHiggs/pseuds/ElizaHiggs
Summary: “Bluey!” Charlotte said, in a tone that suggested she was exceedingly glad to see him.Strike’s eyes flickered to Robin, who gave a helpless sort of shrug. He looked back at their intruder. “What do you want, Charlotte?”





	Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Guys, I have a confession to make: I LOVE CHARLOTTE. I love women behaving badly, and Charlotte is basically a psychopathic tornado destroying everything in her path. She popped up in my brain this morning and demanded I write this. Who was I to say no?
> 
> (But don’t worry, Strike has more willpower than I do.)
> 
> WARNING: Charlotte uses some pretty misogynistic language in this, and there’s a brief reference to STIs.
> 
> I own none of these characters.

“Good morning. Would it be possible for me to see Mr. Strike? I don’t have an appointment.”

The dark-haired woman standing in the front door had all the sensual fullness of a rose at the height of its bloom, and not the faintest whiff of the slight wilt that might normally be expected of a woman nearing forty, though Robin knew that was exactly what she was. 

The angel cocked her head to one side at Robin’s silence. “I believe we once spoke over the phone? I’m an old friend of Cormoran’s.”

Robin struggled to find her voice as the woman approached her desk. They had, indeed, once spoken by phone, when Charlotte had called to lord her engagement to the Honorable Jago Ross over Strike’s head, but Robin had also seen her in person once before: on her very first day at the office. The day Strike had finally ended his off-again-on-again sixteen year relationship. 

Robin shook her head. “I’m afraid Mr. Strike requires a prior appointment before meeting with potential clients.” Her heart was beating so fast she could feel it in the back of her throat. Anything to get rid of her before Strike realized she was here. “If you’d like, I can take your contact details, and we can find a time that works for everyone. Perhaps next week?”

Charlotte’s liquid brown eyes widened slightly. “Cormoran has his secretary determine which of his old friends he will and won’t see?” Her tone was still pleasant enough, but the insult in the words was plain.

Robin bristled against her will. _Don’t let her get to you_ , she chided herself. _Just get rid of her_. “I’m his partner, actually.”

“Of course, excuse me,” Charlotte said politely. It was hard to look directly at her when she smiled. Robin felt downright grubby next to this astonishing creature. “As I was saying, I’m an old friend. I’m sure Cormoran wouldn’t mind—”

The door to the inner office opened, and Charlotte broke off. Strike stood with his arms folded across his chest, taking up the bulk of the space in the doorway. Robin bit back a shiver at the look on his face. She hoped he would never look at her with that sort of coldness. 

“Bluey!” Charlotte said, in a tone that suggested she was exceedingly glad to see him. 

Strike’s eyes flickered to Robin, who gave a helpless sort of shrug. He looked back at their intruder. “What do you want, Charlotte?”

Charlotte’s perfect eyebrows rose. “Why, to hire you of course.”

Strike continued to contemplate Charlotte coldly, and Robin could tell he was weighing the urge to simply order her from the office. 

Charlotte continued to smile. “Won’t you hear me out?”

She practically dripped reasonableness. 

“Fine,” Strike said finally. He turned into his office, leaving Charlotte to escort herself inside.

Robin understood that she wasn’t supposed to follow. 

#

Strike shut the door behind his unwanted guest. 

“She seems nice. A bit outspoken, but you did always like them assertive.” Charlotte’s voice was airy, flippant. As though nearly twenty years of history, most of it unpleasant, didn’t lay between them. “Are you sleeping with her, Bluey?” 

Strike sat down behind his desk. “What do you want, Charlotte?” he repeated.

“What I said. To hire you.” She flopped down in the chair opposite. It was like watching a ballerina express the emotion of ennui through dance. Charlotte had always had the gift of turning careless movements into acts of grace, and she therefore used them as often as possible. Nothing Charlotte did was without calculation. 

“What for?” Strike asked. 

“Jago’s cheating on me. I want to know with who.”

Reluctantly, and from habit, Strike reached for his notebook. “Why do you think he’s cheating on you?”

“I don’t think he is; I know it. I need evidence to confront him with.” She looked down at her hands, a move that made her look vulnerable. A move he knew to be a feint. “And—for the divorce proceedings.”

And there it was. Strike understood that Charlotte had already created the dramatic narrative in her head: a drawn-out divorce, in which the Honorable Jago Ross is exposed as cheating scum in public court, and in which she, the heartbroken, beautiful divorcee, finds comfort in the arms of the famous private eye she’d hired to expose him. 

Strike sighed internally. “How do you know he’s cheating on you if you don’t already have evidence?”

She didn’t look up from her hands, instead splaying her fingers so that the massive rock caught the dim glint of the office lighting. “I had an abnormal Pap smear,” she said quietly. “Nothing an antibiotic course couldn’t clear right up, thank god, but...” 

She shrugged carelessly, and Strike grimaced. “Sorry.”

She waved her hand. “I want to know who the dirty bitch is. I want photographs of them together.” She tilted her head back over her shoulder. “You could send your partner to do it. Tempt him. She’s his type. Curvy.”

The thought of Jago Ross touching—looking at—Robin was enough to make the bile rise in Strike’s mouth. “Unlikely to work if what you want is photographs of the other woman,” he said, making a note. 

When Charlotte didn’t continue, Strike looked up. She was watching him, her dark eyes wide, fathomless. All beauty fades eventually, but Charlotte seemed as yet untouched by time. He had known this woman since they were nineteen. Strike felt himself soften, minutely. 

“How are you, Bluey?” she said softly. 

“Fine.”

“Aren’t you going to ask how I am?”

“You’ve just told me.” Strike gestured towards her with his pencil. 

Charlotte never flushed; she was far too much the master of herself. But her eyes went just slightly cooler, a sign Strike might have missed if he hadn’t known her so well. She straightened in her chair. “Are you taking my case or not?”

The office temperature might have dropped several degrees. Strike sighed and leaned back in his chair. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know what you want, Charlotte. And I’m not putting Robin in the middle of it.”

When Robin smiled, it was like stepping out of the shadows and into the sunshine on a crisp day. When Charlotte smiled, it was like looking directly into the sun. It hurt. “Are all private dicks so protective of their partners?” 

Strike closed the notebook. “I wouldn’t know.”

Charlotte’s grin grew even wider. “You really _are_ sleeping with her, aren’t you?”

“Stop it, Charlotte.”

She laughed, delighted to have hit a nerve. “And here I thought you were too ‘ethical’ to shit where you eat.”

“She’s my wife.” 

For the first time, genuine expression crossed Charlotte’s face. She looked taken aback. Her gaze flickered to Strike’s left hand, which he held up obligingly, displaying the gold band on the third finger there. Her lips thinned. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” He nodded his head at the door. 

Strike watched as she showed herself out, then stood and followed the path she had taken, out of the shadows of the cold office and through the open door, into the sunshine of Robin. 

#

Charlotte had marched out of the office without so much as a glance at Robin’s desk, a lack of confrontation for which Robin was grateful. 

The man standing again in the doorway to the inner office looked a bit worse for emotional wear. But his eyes weren’t on Charlotte’s retreating back. They were fixed on her. 

Robin moved towards him, and his arms went around her. For a few minutes the world was comfortable again. 

“Thank you,” he said, his voice muffled by the nape of her neck. 

Robin pulled back just enough to look into his face. “What for?” She had failed to get rid of Charlotte. 

Strike chuckled. “For walking into my office that day.” He tucked her hair behind her ears and cradled her face with both his hands. “For making that the easiest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

Tears sprang to Robin’s eyes before she could stop them. “Fuck,” she said, blinking desperately. Her mascara was sure to already be running at the corners. 

Strike laughed, kissed his wife, and then went to fetch her a tissue. It was time to get back to work.


End file.
